


Halloween Spirits

by Bohemienne



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fódlan Frights Halloween Exchange (Fire Emblem), Gen, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27532789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bohemienne/pseuds/Bohemienne
Summary: The Black Eagles House at GMU decides to go hunting for the ghost of Lady Seiros, and Hubert gets stuck with his longtime enemy/crush(?).A Fódlan Frights exchange fic for@Technicoloriing, who requested Halloween antics with Ferdibert and Edelgard!
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 109
Collections: Fodlan Frights Halloween Exchange 2020





	Halloween Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> This is so inexcusably late but HAPPY BELATED HALLOWEEN all the same! I hope you enjoy, Technicoloriing!

“And they say that even now, Lady Seiros wanders the university grounds, defending them from any who’d intrude upon her sanctuary.” Lysithea moves the flashlight until it’s just beneath her chin, her white hair glowing orange in the harsh beam. “If you encounter her on a cold, foggy night, much like tonight, you never know if she will find you a friend or foe. She may grant you a wish for true love . . . or unhinge her jaw and _devour you whole_!”

Annette shrieks, and buries her face in Mercedes’s shoulder, while Bernadetta looks on the verge of tears. Hubert just steps away from the ghost story circle seated on the floor of the Black Eagle House common room and rolls his eyes. He needs to set out the dry ice on his cocktail tray so he can bring it out, and now seems like as good a time as any for maximum spooky effect. But then, he’d been hoping for a more civilized Victorian salon-style Halloween gathering, and not a bunch of screaming undergrads trying to give each other nightmares. Next thing he knows, he’ll be called on as RA to change the sheets for bedwetters.

“Hubert.”

Hubert scowls as he slips into the kitchen, and finds the House president, Edelgard, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. He reins in his disdain long enough to give her a fluid bow, and she giggles. “My lady.”

She flutters the skirts of her outrageously broad panniers. Her white hair is piled atop her head, with her face powdered a ghastly pale to match, save for haunting dark circles under her eyes, a large drawn-on beauty mark, and, of course, the thick streak of red-dyed corn syrup encircling her throat. On close inspection, the large earrings dangling from her lobes were tiny guillotines, each inscribed with the slogan EAT THE RICH. The Ghost of Marie Antoinette had been Edelgard’s idea, but the execution was largely Hubert’s doing, and he’s quite pleased with how his costuming turned out.

“You should be out there with your friends, Mademoiselle President,” Hubert says, as he pulls on the thick rubber kitchen gloves and heads to the freezer. “Not lurking around in the kitchen.”

“You looked like you needed cheering up.” She picks up a tiny wedge of Brie cheese on a toothpick and pops it in her mouth. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Ferdie hasn’t shown up yet, does it?”

Hubert nearly drops the tray of dry ice as he sneers. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s Halloween. You of all people should be having the time of our life, Dr. Faustus. Instead you’re sulking over in the kitchen.”

“I’m the Faustian Devil, not Faust—urgh. Never mind.” He adjusts his waistcoat with a huff, then sets about placing chunks of dry ice inside the cast iron cauldron. “If Ferdinand would rather say holed up in his room singing along to ‘Hadestown’ or ‘Hamilton’ or whatever it is he’s on about these days, then good riddance.”

“Ooh, did someone say ‘Hadestown’?”

Dorothea Arnault appears in the kitchen’s entrance, a tattered white lace wedding gown hanging off of her. Edelgard immediately brightens at her appearance, and even Hubert can’t help but grin. And feel deep relief to have the spotlight off his sorry excuse for an unrequited crush—if it can even be called such a thing. He certainly refuses to name it thus.

“There you are, Thea!” Edelgard takes Dorothea’s arm. “ _Hubert_ here was just wondering where Ferdinand had gotten off to.”

“Was not,” he mutters, settling the punch bowl of inky black-purple blackberry rum spritzer inside the cauldron.

“Ooh, was he now?” Dorothea coos. “Well, I was just helping him finish up his makeup. He should be down any moment.”

And Hubert hates the little skip of hope inside his chest. Stupid, _stupid._

“You look very dashing, by the way, Hubert,” Dorothea adds. “Must be nice not to have to hide your horns for one day out of the year.”

He sticks his tongue out at her, and pours water around the edges of the cauldron to start the dry ice smoking.

“Perfect! Then Ferdie’ll be here just in time for the ghost hunt,” Edelgard says.

Hubert ladles out a plastic coupe of spritzer for each of the ladies. “. . . Ghost hunt?”

“Come on, you heard Lysithea. The ghost of Lady Seiros haunting the grounds of GMU?” Edelgard grins as she takes her glass from Hubert. “I know I have more than a few choice words for her.”

“I thought perhaps I could bring out my collection of Victorian post-mortem photography—”

Ashe pokes his head into the kitchen from behind Dorothea. “Did someone say ghost hunt?”

Dorothea pets at Edelgard’s arm wrapped around hers. They’re still at this adorable stage of an early relationship, Hubert notes, in which each is both reluctant to part from the other; and despite the fact their costumes weren’t designed to match, they nonetheless go ‘together’ rather magnificently. A corpse bride punished by the patriarchy for daring to dream, entrusting her fate to a vicious queen punished for buying into and perpetrating patriarchy’s and capitalism’s lies. He imagines he’ll be proofreading Edelgard’s next op-ed for the _GMU Saints Weekly_ along similar lines over the latest Supreme Court confirmation, if he knows his lifelong best friend at all.

But perhaps she doesn’t need his assistance with such things anymore. Not with Dorothea right there to bounce off all her ideas. To speak her same language, rather than merely listen and encourage.

Edelgard must see something of this written on his face, because she gives him a wink, and bumps her huge skirt forward until it strikes at his stockinged ankles. “Yes, a ghost hunt. Hubert doesn’t think ghost stories are scary enough for a proper Halloween party, apparently. So maybe we should all try hunting down some frights of our own.”

Hubert squawks. “I never said any such thing—”

“A ghost hunt! How exhilarating!”

And suddenly a heavenly vision of gold, copper, and pearl manifests behind all of them. Ferdinand von Aegir, his hard-carved polo and lacrosse body almost fully on display and swathed in a white Greco-Roman tunic of satin, bound around him with gold cables. His gladiator sandals, wrapped all the way up to his mid-thighs, are also gold, as are his arm bindings and the circlet nestled around thick orange curls that cascade around his shoulders. Hubert swallows, chasing their path down to frame his biceps and one exposed boob. He knew Ferdinand’s hair had been growing longer this past school year, but he hadn’t realized it had become quite like _that_.

Then Hubert glanced at his face. His cheeks and jawline are crusted with carefully painted extra eyeballs, all the same shape as his own wide, sparkling ones, so much that for a moment Hubert couldn’t even tell for sure which ones were his real pair. But then he blinks, and settles his gaze on Hubert’s with a shy and endearingly crooked grin.

“And what,” Hubert says archly, “on earth are _you_ supposed to be.”

“Why, nothing earthly at all!” Ferdinand does a twirl, the satin toga flaring dangerously high. “I’m an angel of the terrifying Old Testament variety.”

Then he reaches over his shoulder and withdraws a very convincingly flaming sword, earning squeals from Dorothea and Ashe, and a “Sweet!” from Edelgard and Ashe’s boyfriend Felix (who seems to be dressed simply as himself but with cat ears, which is to say, not in costume at all).

Hubert simply continues staring, annoyingly at a loss for words.

“What’s the matter, Hubert? You do not approve of something a bit more theatrical?” Ferdinand winks at him. “And here I thought you were the number one advocate for all things Halloween.”

“Every day is Halloween,” Hubert intones.

Inside, he’s screaming. How dare Ferdinand wear something so revealing, so utterly . . . angelic? How dare it suit him so well, right down to the warm tones of his hair and eyes and skin against the accents of gold? Why couldn’t he let Hubert enjoy Halloween the same way he’s enjoyed it for the past twenty-one years, unburdened by yearning wound tight like a bobbin inside of him, and snagged up just as badly? It’s downright cursed, is what it is. Hubert is supposed to enjoy tonight for the macabre nonsense of it all, and not spend it drooling after some brat who, until this semester, was more apt to send him into an infuriated tirade than a lovesick stare.

And then Ferdinand laughs, carefree and joyed, and gives Hubert the lightest rap on the arm with his knuckles. “You really are something, von Vestra.”

Hubert manages a crooked smile, even though he’s not sure if it’s an insult or compliment.

Edelgard, who’s apparently been watching the whole exchange, shoots Hubert another smug grin before stepping back into the common room to address the party at large. “Yes! I think it’s perfect time for us all to go hunt Lady Seiros for ourselves, after everyone gets themselves a glass of the witches’ brew Hubert so kindly mixed up for us.” She gestures to the now smoking cauldron, and Hubert remembers himself long enough to carry it out over to the central table for everyone to pour themselves a glass. “Hubert, you’ve got a ton of flashlights in the RA emergency kit, right?”

“One for each student in the Black Eagles dormitory.”

“Perfect.” Edelgard grins. “And we have about as many guests from other houses as that, so we ought to be able to split into teams of two for our hunt. Oh! I know! Anyone who manages to capture documentation of the ghost—voice recording, photograph, anything at all—wins the top prize!” She grabs one of the candy bags left over from the costume contest at the start of the evening. “So start pairing off, and let’s head to the main buildings to hunt some ghosts!”

Hubert looks toward Edelgard to be his partner, but she’s already clinging to Dorothea, because of course, and he scowls as he watches the other guests pair off around him. Lysithea with Leonie, Caspar yanking at the arm of an unimpressed-looking Linhardt, Mercedes grinning at a bouncing Annette.

“Well. I suppose my usual project partner is teaming up with yours,” Ferdinand says, at Hubert’s shoulder.

Hubert turns toward him with a sneer. “I don’t suppose you can convince them to split up?”

“And why would I? Let them have their fun together. Besides, I daresay Dorothea’s sick of me after all our rehearsals for the upcoming fall musical together.” He gives Hubert another glance. “I take it that costume is your doing as well? You really ought to lend your talents to the theatre department sometime.”

Hubert huffs. “My art is not available on demand. I design when the mood strikes me.” He tugs at the lacy cuffs of his jacket. “Besides, I’m busy preparing for the MCAT.”

“So it will be med school for you, then? I guess I’m not surprised. Though I did wonder if you’d follow Edelgard to law school.”

“And you?” Hubert asks, glancing at him sideways, then shakes his head. “No. I considered it, but no. I’d rather pursue bioengineering. Perhaps become a medical examiner.”

A wry smile, much too bright for the darkened common room. “Not a mortician?”

Hubert makes a face at him, though he supposes Ferdinand can’t actually see it. “I’ll be back. I have to go fetch the spare flashlights.”

Once the flashlights are distributed and Edelgard has restated their goals and rules, the party makes a gruesome processional away from the Black Eagles House toward the heart of Garreg Mach University, and the towering cathedral and administrative buildings there. The night is thick with a threat of rain, mist readily filling in the dark gaps between sparse lamp posts along the walking paths. Aside from the rare glimpse of light, the university structures and trees are solid black silhouettes against a cloudy sky.

Hubert notices Ferdinand shivering as they walk, and his first instinct—one drilled into him from his years taking care of Edelgard, it must be—is to offer him his arm, his jacket. But Ferdinand would surely just as soon snap at him for the gesture than appreciate it. Wouldn’t he? Their freshman year, they could hardly stop sniping at each other long enough to deal with anything else. But as their outright warfare faded into an uneasy détente and then a cool distance, Hubert found himself missing Ferdinand’s presence. His late nights chugging coffee while he studied in the common room were a lot less dull with Ferdinand off at theatre rehearsals rather than scolding him for trying to pull all-nighters to cram.

“All right, time to split up,” Edelgard declares, when they reach the foot of the cathedral. “Anywhere the Lady Seiros has been reported is fair game, though try not to wander anywhere too off-limits to students.”

Hubert glances toward Ferdinand with a sigh. “Any preference on where we’re hunting, then?”

“I think the towers outside the cathedral. Still near her main ‘haunt’ but just remote enough to prove a likely place for her to appear.”

Hubert crinkles his nose. “You really believe all this?”

Ferdinand’s silence is uncharacteristic; heavy. “I’m not sure what I believe these days.”

Hubert scoffs, because it’s easier than trying to examine that. The Ferdinand of their freshman year always knew precisely who he was—which is to say, a perfect clone of his father. And that was always more than enough reason for Hubert to hate him. But it’s true that he’s drifted away from that. The long hair, the newfound passion for the drama department . . . And this revealing costume. The old Ferdinand would have never worn such a thing, probably yammering on about propriety and how he must think of his future political career.

Now that Hubert thinks about it, he can’t recall the last time he heard Ferdinand mention his political aspirations.

“Fine, then. Lead the way.”

They wind around the back side of the cathedral, their footsteps echoing in the narrow stone passage. Ferdinand fumbles with the flashlight a few times before Hubert snatches it from him and tucks it into his back pocket. “It’s too foggy for that to be much use anyway. It’s just going to reflect the mist.”

Ferdinand grins, something mischievous in his gaze. “So you do think we stand a chance of catching something?”

“Hmmph. No. Of course not.” He folds his arms. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Ferdinand presses a hand to his bared chest, and Hubert hates the way his gaze lingers along that warm skin a moment too long. “What? You don’t believe in ghosts? Of all people?”

Hubert gives him a look that he hopes translates well in the dim night. “I tend not to believe in anything for which there is not significant scientific evidence.”

“Ah, but to prove the existence of ghosts, or disprove, as the case may be, one must approach the issue dispassionately! Scientists are needed there most of all, in fact, to take the necessary measurements, to gather that evidence you so admire. A lack of evidence does not always mean none exists! It could mean only that none have attempted to gather any. We cannot see that which we do not look for, after all.”

Hubert is far too accustomed to snapping right back at Ferdinand—whether he disagrees with him or not—but his instincts must be rusty. Rather than spend Ferdinand’s entire rant plotting his attack, he merely listens to him. The passion he seems able to conjure up for any issue, no matter how small or large, and the fluid, merry way he delivers it. How did he ever think Ferdinand wasn’t suited for the theatre? Even his natural speaking voice is so enchanting and melodic—

“Hubert?” Ferdinand asks, more trepidatious now. “I believe this is the part where you’re supposed to argue with me.”

Hubert huffs with an embarrassed laugh. “Perhaps I was just enjoying hearing you state your case.”

And it’s far more forward than he intended it to be, but it’s too late to unsay the words, so Hubert just lets them hang. If he still harbors that old need to feel victorious over Ferdinand somehow, well, then perhaps Ferdinand’s stunned silence that ensues can count as such.

“Oh. Well. I . . . I enjoy your . . . arguments as well,” he finally manages.

Hubert’s ears feel like they’re on fire at that, but he offers a curt nod. “Then I suppose we’re even.”

Ferdinand nods as well. “Evenly matched.”

_Matched._

Hubert hates the way his pulse flutters at the thought of that.

They reach the tower at last, a thankful distraction from wherever _that_ line of conversation might have been heading, and Hubert produces his prized possession: an all-access security card linked to a university employee who technically does not exist. One quick swipe at the tower’s base, and the door unlocks easily for them. He tugs it open and holds it wide for Ferdinand with an exaggerated bow.

“Oh,” Ferdinand says once they’re inside. The air cool and clammy, the tower unsettlingly dark. The “tower” is mainly just a spiral staircase, but with a sitting room at the top where the university president Rhea likes to host wealthy donors for tea and film promotional material for the university, singing the virtues of GMU. If any student asks after the function of the tower, they’re simply told it exists “to venerate the goddess, of course,” as if the entire massive cathedral right beside the tower isn’t supposed to serve exactly that purpose as well.

“Hmm.” Hubert rubs his hands together as the chill worm its way through his brocade jacket. “Shall we try calling out to Lady Seiros?”

“We could try,” Ferdinand says, somewhat dubiously. “They did say she’s frequently been spotted at the top and on the stairs . . .”

“Then I suppose we should make our way up.”

Ferdinand starts first, with Hubert trailing behind on the steep coil of stone. It isn’t hard to imagine how someone could feel a chilly draft on these stairs and think they’d been visited by a ghost, he can concede. There’s an otherworldly wash of blue to the darkness that is surely just the moonlight trickling in, but it seems to glow all around them as they climb. Wind seems to whisper over the stones, and his brain itches to find words in it, logical or not.

Ferdinand stops abruptly in front of him, and the thin soles of his gladiator sandals slip on the stone. Without thinking, Hubert darts forward to catch him, arms wrapping around his chest. That bare, warm, _very_ firm chest. Hubert swallows and tries to shift his hands to a less compromising position as Ferdinand pulls himself back up.

“Thank you. I don’t know what came over me . . .” Ferdinand fusses with his hair before he starts climbing again. “Letting myself get spooked, I guess.”

“Well, that won’t do. I thought Ferdinand von Aegir was fearless.” Hubert smirks; he can’t help that his tone is far less venomous than it once might have been toward Ferdinand. “A brave von Aegir heir.”

“Oh, there isn’t much brave about being a von Aegir.” Ferdinand trails off.

Hubert scoffs, but it twists at his heart, the tone in Ferdinand’s voice. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“No? You used to deride me constantly for it. For my father, all his cowardly dealings . . . My own inability to stand up to him like I should.”

“Oh.” Hubert glances away, not that Ferdinand can see him. “I suppose I might have been somewhat needlessly aggressive in my taunts . . .”

“And then you just—stopped speaking to me at all.” Ferdinand reaches the landing, but leans against the door. “I thought I must have done something wrong, something that finally drove you away. I guess I should have been glad but . . . somehow the quiet was even worse.”

“Ferdinand . . .”

Hubert reaches past him to unlock the door to the tower room, and waves him inside. It’s eerie, still and moon-kissed in the darkness, and somehow the vague shapes of furniture make it more sinister, like spectres could be lurking behind anything.

“Oh,” Ferdinand says, a little breathy. “This is . . .”

 _Spooky,_ Hubert thinks, though he’s not about to admit to it out loud.

“Beautiful,” Ferdinand finishes. He takes a step out into the room, and all the warm hues of his costume and body suddenly turn silver and pearlescent in the moonlight. It’s like a liquidy waltz as he moves, and Hubert can’t help but follow. Like chasing a phantom, a beautiful apparition.

He moves into Ferdinand’s space, completely entranced. Beautiful. Yes, beautiful. Even though he’s never been able to admit . . .

“I miss . . . you,” Ferdinand blurts, and his fingers, cooler than Hubert expected, come to rest against Hubert’s cheek. “I don’t miss the way we were always at each other’s throats, perhaps, but I miss your presence nonetheless.”

Hubert swallows, afraid he might chase off this spectral image if he moves too suddenly. But the dreamy, haunted feel in the tower chamber makes it otherworldly enough that he feels safe to admit it. “I miss you, as well.”

“Then why do we stay apart?” Ferdinand asks. Still a beautiful tenor, but softer, more tremulous this time.

“Pride,” Hubert utters. “Because I’m a fool. Because I didn’t think that you . . .”

“That I what?”

He closes his eyes. “Could care anything for me. And I did everything I could to make it that way.”

A soft laugh that warms Hubert’s face as it huffs past those round lips. “Well, you are right about one thing.”

His eyes pop open again. “And what’s that?”

“You are a fool,” Ferdinand says. “If you truly think . . . that I don’t want you, too.”

Before Hubert can think better of it, Ferdinand is tilting his face up toward his—and Hubert lowers his right back, meeting his lips with the faintest sigh. Yes, he wants this. Has always wanted it. But he wasn’t the man he needed to be, and neither, in truth, was Ferdinand. But now—

Now, all he can do is lose himself in warm mouth and warmer arms and that yearning finally resolving into a sense of _right_.

“Ferdinand,” he murmurs, catching his breath, stroking his fingers through soft curls. “Are you sure this is is all right with you . . .”

“Oh, do shut up and kiss me some more.”

Hubert laughs, and does just that—until a sudden scrape of wood on stone sends them jolting apart.

“The ghost,” Ferdinand gasps, and even though Hubert’s old instinct is to cut him down for such a foolish belief, his heart pounds, too, with the exact same fear. He stands paralyzed until his brain can finally catch up with the past few minutes, and he snatches Ferdinand by the arm and yanks him behind the nearest chair.

No. Not a ghost.

Assistant Dean Seteth, standing in the stairway door, scowling as he sweeps a flashlight across the room.

“Now, I know no students of mine would be so foolish as to wander up here unaccompanied,” he calls out into the room, his tone bitter and sharp. “I would hate to have to issue suspensions on such a night as this.”

Hubert bites back a swear, and Ferdinand tenses beside him. But Seteth takes a few more steps into the room, jumping forward to yank at a curtain with a cruel “Ah-ha!” Only to find it empty. And as he moves further into the space, he leaves the staircase door unguarded.

“Follow me,” Hubert whispers, but doesn’t give Ferdinand a choice—his grip stays locked on his wrist as he yanks Ferdinand in a wide circle around the space, darting from cover to cover until they reach the staircase doors. “Run!”

They pound down the stairs of the goddess tower and out into the chilly night, Ferdinand whooping in delight once they’re safely out of the cathedral’s shadow. Dorothea and Edelgard are leaning against the big oak tree near the cathedral entrance, and shriek at Ferdinand’s approach.

“Ferdie!” Dorothea scolds. “You about scared the shit out of me!”

“Any luck finding Lady Seiros?” Edelgard asks with a coy grin.

It is at that moment that Hubert realizes that he and Ferdinand were both wearing different shades of lipstick, most certainly smeared all over his face right now.

“Um. We tried our best,” he stammers.

“I’ll say,” Dorothea adds, smirking too.

Hubert scowls. “As if you fared any better.”

Edelgard reaches up to ruffle his hair as she stands, and beckons the boys over. “Come on, you tried your best. I think we’ve all earned ourselves another round of witch’s brew.”

Ferdinand looks to Hubert, and he relaxes. There’s no use hiding it. And certainly no point being ashamed. He takes Ferdinand’s arm as it’s offered to him, and lets himself be led back to the Black Eagles House.

Yes, he decides, Halloween is his favorite day.

**Author's Note:**

> [@Bohemienne6](http://twitter.com/bohemienne6)


End file.
